Offside Spark
by Clavicus Vile
Summary: Kirk, the newest member of Enterprise University's soccer team, is an immediate hotshot and campus celebrity. He's everyone's idol, except for a quiet, enigmatic, and impossibly logical co-captain, who think's that James T. Kirk could use an attitude adjustment.


_Offside Spark_

A Star Trek Reboot FanFiction  
by Clavicus Vile

A/N: This is my first attempt at a fanfiction, so please don't judge me too harshly! It's college AU, and on top of that, it's a sports fic. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think or if you have any constructive criticism! Also, if you want to volunteer your beta services, I would be so incredibly grateful!

Just a quick aside: All of the characters are canon, except for Kirk's initial group of friends. The names all come from the initial ideas that Rodenberry had for the Enterprise's captain. I hope it's not too confusing, but they won't be in the story very much anyway!

Playlist: "Switchback" by Celldweller; "Fortune Days" by The Glitch Mob; "Cinema" by Benny Benassi; "Blue" by Gemini; "Sail" by AWOLNATION; "Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons; "Critical Hit" by Emalkay

* * *

"Jimmy, let's go!" Someone slammed a fist against the apartment door, once, twice, three times. "We wanna get there before all of the beer is _gone,_ man!"

"Jesus," James Kirk grumbled, pushing himself up from the worn leather couch; a hand-me-down from his grandfather, supple but well-used, Kirk used it like a bed. A bed on which he had just been sleeping, having forgotten about the party that he promised to attend.

He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the couch, before stalking to the door of his apartment, where his friends were still banging away and probably disturbing the neighbors enough to cause them to phone the police. "I'm coming, you morons! Stop trying to break my door down!"

Someone on the other side made a rude comment which caused a chorus of laughter to erupt. James rolled his eyes but smiled good-naturedly. "You're a fucking girl, the way you need to get ready before leaving, Jim!"

"Just for that comment, I think I need to run upstairs and fix my hair," the lone occupant of the apartment yelled at the door, eliciting groans.

"We're gonna leave you if you don't hurry up!"

Kirk moved into the small kitchen, unconcerned by the threat, shrugging his jacket across his broad shoulders. He glanced around the small room, taking in the sticky linoleum floor and the various bottles piled and strewn across the counters, not to mention the stacks of dishes in and around the sink. Just like every time he entered the kitchen, Kirk vowed to clean it later. He marched over to the small refrigerator, yanking it open to grab a water bottle. Sliding over to the sink, he grabbed an oddly placed bottle of Listerine and took a swig, swishing and rinsing with the bottle of water.

"Alright, I'm coming!" he announced, shouting towards foyer.

A cheer went up outside the front door and Kirk laughed, tossing the half full water bottle in the trash can before jogging out the door. He closed it, locked it, and followed the ragtag group of guys down to a beat up old truck on the curb. It was a nasty faded red color, something like clotted blood, the rust spots and peeling paint only adding to the comparison. It was the epitome of everything redneck, but it fit in well in Riverside, Iowa; not so much in suburban San Francisco.

Kirk lifted himself into the bed with four other guys, all of them elbowing and punching each other in that masculine display so common to young adults. Leaning back, Kirk stuck his head into back window of the cab. The driver, Hannibal, glanced over at Kirk and barked out a harsh laugh.

"Shit, you really _did_ do your hair, didn't you?" Kirk frowned, glancing into the rearview; his hair was exactly the same as it had been when they'd woken him from his nap on the couch. It was blond, messy, and just a bit too long. "No. God, you're such a fag, checking me out."

The driver scowled, but didn't comment. Kirk grinned. "Where are we going, anyway, Han?"

"There's some supposedly raging party near the university. We're going to check it out."

Kirk frowned, pulling his head from the cab. He wasn't a huge fan of the university. However, the girls around there were _smokin'_ and Kirk didn't mind the trade-off. He titled his head back, watching the stars blur by as the truck slid onto the highway and made its way into the heart of San Francisco. Soon the stars were replaced by neon and the far off-glitter of an occupied office; Kirk sat up, soaking in the jumbled sounds of the city as they drove past streets and over avenues.

Faces zipped by in a blur, focusing into sharp detail whenever the truck stopped at a light. Kirk wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on top of them as he watched a drunken woman fight with her significant other. He chuckled quietly when she slurred that her husband was "an imbecile of the highest eck- ecka- esslon" and her husband shouted back "It's 'echelon' you alcohol-sodden lamprey." Kirk mouthed that phrase to himself, trying to commit the insult to memory.

Soon, the old scabby truck rolled past the gates of Enterprise University. There were few lights on, mostly street lamps and lawn illuminators. The overall effect was pretty chilling, combined with the low-hanging bay fog, but Kirk didn't say anything. Flagg, however, did. "Jesus," the scrawny guy sitting next to Kirk exclaimed. "It's fucking terrifying out here." He smacked his hands on the roof of the cab, shouting for Hannibal to hurry up. The truck picked up speed, moving past the well-manicured façade of academic buildings, towards the housing sector. The further they moved into the interior of student living, the better the group felt. There were brighter lights, louder sounds, and much more libation. They passed quite a few parties, and Kirk started to get the sense that it wasn't so much individual parties spilling into one another as it was one giant party in several parts. Maybe it was the same thing.

Eventually, Hannibal seemed to find the right piece of the party amoeba, since he veered off the road to park in the grass next to a frat house that was slowly getting covered in trash and vomit. Kirk watched as two hulking football players stumbled out of the house and puked on the porch, high-fived each other, and went back inside. _Or maybe not so slowly,_ Kirk thought, as he hopped out of the truck and loped across the lawn.

The first thing that Kirk noticed once inside the house was that music could indeed reach a volume that bordered on painful, especially when coupled with various jocks and frat types screaming as someone did a keg stand and several drunk sorority girls screaming that the other were sluts. Kirk dodged around both groups of students as he made his way into the kitchen, and hopefully where the beer was. He glanced at the floor, justified when it was equally as sticky as his own. There was a trail of beer cans, and he followed them until he was led to a keg and a cooler. Glancing between the trashed, banged up keg and the relatively clean cooler, Kirk opted for the cooler.

"Those are for house members only."

Kirk glanced up from where he was leaned over the cooler. "Come again?"

The girl who addressed him crossed her arms, careful not to jostle her red cup. "The cans. They're for house members." She glanced over his outfit, ratty and grease-stained, deciding that it did not meet the Alpha Sigma Nu standards, and as such, the cooler raider was not entitled.

Kirk grabbed a cold can any, straightening up to stand over the sorostitute. He winced at his own estimation of the girl, but that overtly masculine part of him justified it as he took in her slightly orange makeup, excessive cleavage, and lack of a real skirt. "I think it'll be okay." He winked, stepping around the girl. He glanced at her cup, and then back at her eyes, but not before making a leering journey up there. "Besides, no one's trying to plaster _me_ with cheap beer for a good time later." He didn't wait for the gasp before turning back around.

He moved through the living room, sliding around tight presses of people writhing against each other. The hormones and sweat were thick in the air, and Kirk wasn't sure if it was nauseating or arousing. Either way, he had to get some air, mildly amused that it took less than thirty minutes to drive him out of the house. He just wasn't in the mood tonight. He excused himself as he pushed and shoved his way to the back of the room. He almost cheered in relief when he saw the sliding glass door.

Kirk sighed in relief as a cool breeze slid across his forehead. He leaned on the porch railing, dangling his arms over the edge, though careful not to spill his drink. All over the lawn were students in various states of inebriation. Some were passed out on the grass, others were sitting on it and giggling at bugs crawling over their shoes… though Kirk was pretty sure those kids were high. Others were walking towards or from various parties, tottering on stilettos and sloshing amber liquid around in red cups.

However, the people that really caught Jim Kirk's attention were two younger looking students, red-faced and buzzed, kicking around a soccer ball. They were obviously pretty good, even tipsy, and Kirk was taken back to high school.

He closed his eyes, remembering running down a green field, dribbling a black and white ball between his feet. Shin guards stiff on his legs, grass stains all over his shorts, jersey forgotten somewhere on the bench. His head was filled with the echo of roaring cheers from down the field, and sharp, masculine shouts right behind his back. Jim swore he could feel the wind in his hair, and the sweat dripping down his nose.

His reverie was broken, sharply, by shouting; it wasn't the kind of drunken shouting between friends close enough to talk at reasonable levels. It wasn't the jovial calls between groups of passing party goers. It was a desperate kind of shouting, the kind that back in high school would happen in front of the math or chemistry labs—the sound of someone being egged unwillingly to a fight. Kirk slowly opened his eyes, though not past slitted. He looked around for the source of the shouting, finding it back at the soccer players.

The two freshmen were no longer kicking a ball back and forth. They were more unfavorably occupied by a group of much larger guys. One of the meat heads had a freshman by the lapels, the littlier guy struggling to free himself—a task made harder since his feet weren't on the ground. The other freshman was shouting at the attackers, his face white. "Stop zhat! You keent do zhat to us! Let us alone!" The proclamation was met with laughter and a rough shove.

Kirk, having thrown himself off the porch, stepped around the little soccer player, sprawled on the ground. His fists were clenched, his eyes narrow. The traducers didn't notice though, enjoying torturing the slight Asian previously dangled by shoving him back and forth.

"Hey." The low call drew the attention of the group, who dropped their hands, the soccer player stumbling to the ground. The group turned, their prey forgotten.

The largest of the group stepped forward. "What do you want, pretty boy?"

Kirk laughed, mirthless, derisive. "A fair fight, unless you're too pussy assed. If so, please, continued pulverizing the two guys sizes smaller than you." He gestured loosely, nonchalant, but his eyes were keen and caught the big guy clenching his fists. He turned his head, faking disinterest, but feinted back when the first punch came flying towards his face.

Kirk smiled coldly, cracking his neck. He stood still for a moment, before rushing his opponent. He landed a solid punch to the jaw, but the hulking mass of post-pubescent flesh was quick and retaliated with a brutal blow to the gut. Kirk jerked forward, wheezing, but turned it around with an uppercut. His adversary, however, was hardly fazed, expecting the blow. He stumbled a half step, but came back with a vicious attack. He grabbed Kirk's shoulders, bending him forward to knee him in the chin. Kirk shouted out, falling backwards into the grass, coughing blood from where he'd bitten his tongue and swallowed wrong. His vision was hazy, clouded, as he slid into unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard before he slid under was police sirens.

* * *

I hope it wasn't too bad! If you're interested in beta-ing it, message me and we'll get to work on it! Reviews are appreciated, and very encouraging!


End file.
